


Run To Ground

by Mack_the_Spoon, Namarie



Series: In The Half Light [2]
Category: West Wing
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-14
Updated: 2012-06-14
Packaged: 2017-11-07 17:38:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/433689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mack_the_Spoon/pseuds/Mack_the_Spoon, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Namarie/pseuds/Namarie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's public announcement of his status has some dangerous consequences. AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Capture

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a direct sequel to “In The Half Light”, co-written by Mack_the_Spoon and me (and like that story, this is highly AU). To understand what's going on here, you probably need to read that story first. Canon-wise, this fits somewhere near the end of season 2, a few weeks after the events of "In The Half Light."  
> There is some violence and minor language contained herein.  
> Also, thanks to Miss Monkeh for the astute beta.

~

It was the pounding headache that brought Sam out of unconsciousness. As he began to wake up, he couldn't help noticing other things that were making him acutely uncomfortable, such as the fact that his arms seemed to be pulled behind his back and his wrists were fastened together extremely tightly. The chair he was in was not exactly built for comfort, either, especially when you added the fact that his ankles were bound to the chair legs. Add the tape over his mouth to all of that, and Sam was pretty sure this was shaping up to be in the top three worst days of his life – with plenty of potential to move up even further in the rankings.

There was a hood over his head, but despite his headache, Sam was able to concentrate and listen. Based on what he heard (and didn't hear), he guessed that he was in a fairly large room, currently empty except for himself, and that there was a large group of people making their way down some stairs toward the room. He felt his heart start to pound. He remembered nothing of his kidnapping except that two people had grabbed him and shoved a cloth soaked in some kind of chemical over his mouth and nose – but he had some idea of what kind of people he was about to confront. Even though it had been several weeks since he'd gone public, he was still very much a news item.

A few seconds later, the door to the room opened, and Sam turned to his right as much as was possible.

“Oh, look, he's already awake,” said a drawling voice. “Good thing you recommended we tie him down securely, James, or we might have to deal with an escaped wild animal in the room.”

Several other voices laughed. The edge to their laughter made the hair on the back of Sam's neck rise.

One set of footsteps approached his chair. The rest of the people in the room seemed to be arranging themselves in front of him, but not too close. Sam tensed as the man came near, but all that happened was that the hood was pulled off his face. “Ladies and gentlemen,” the man who had spoken before said, “let me introduce Sam Seaborn, patron of all the poor, mistreated shifters in our great country. He understands what they face in their lives, you understand, being a shifter himself.”

Sam blinked in the poorly-lit room, looking at the faces of at least two dozen men and women (mostly men) who were staring back at him with expressions ranging from cruel amusement to hostility to outright hatred. Then he looked up at the man who was standing next to him and almost shivered at the coldness with which the man stared back. “Oh, and also,” he added, turning his gaze back to the audience, “as you may or may not know, Mr. Seaborn is the deputy communications director over at the White House. That's senior staff. So I think we can be pretty confident that we have ourselves the most valuable shifter hostage currently possible.”

A few of the audience members whooped and clapped. One guy who was standing up front, arms folded, waited until that noise had died down to ask, “So what are we going to do with him, then, Derek?”

Derek's smile faded. “Well, Alex, I was thinking we could get the President to listen to our demands and put them into action, in exchange for the life of his friend here,” he said, his tone mocking. “Does that sound like a good idea to you?”

Alex scoffed and said, “You really think the President is going to change his mind about protection and help for shifters just because we have one of his staff held hostage? We've all heard what the White House announced – and what this freak himself said on TV! I think we should just kill him, dump the body somewhere it'll be found, and let people know we'll keep doing this until they change their cowardly policies.” There was a murmur of agreement from some of the other people in the room, while Derek stayed silent for a moment.

The headache was starting to recede, but Sam's fear was only increasing. He tried not to hyperventilate as he waited for whatever was coming next. This was bad. This was really, really bad, no matter which of the two plans they followed.

“I like your enthusiasm,” Derek said, glancing down at Sam again before returning his focus to Alex. “And in fact, who's to say we won't do both? I think we should give the President a chance to satisfy our demands … and then whether he does or not, we can do the public a service and get rid of one more shifter.”

Alex smiled and nodded. “All right. I can agree with that.”

Someone else spoke up, from further back in the group. “But do we have any proof that this guy really is a shifter? I mean, we know he's on staff at the White House, so he's a useful hostage, and yeah, he had a Secret Service guard, but...”

“Why the hell would anyone lie about being a shifter?” another person said, scornfully and immediately. “How about you just shut the--”

“Most people wouldn't have any reason to lie about being a shifter,” interrupted Derek, “but think about it: the White House could get a lot of support from the shifter population by having one of their staff say he's one of them, and even though there aren't that many of them in all – thank God – that is a number of votes guaranteed. Also they think they can get shifters to do what they say, I'm guessing.” After he let that sink in, he took a step closer to Sam. “But Mr. Seaborn is actually a shifter. It's pretty easy to prove, and it doesn't take a blood test or seeing him transform, either.” He gestured to the back of the room and said, “Would someone please kill the lights?”

A second later, the lights went out, and then a second after that, Derek held Sam's head up by his hair as he turned on a flashlight and directed it right into Sam's eyes. Sam shut them and tried to pull away, but Derek tightened his grip. “You see that? Just like a dog or a cat or some other animal, the eyes reflect the light. Normal people's eyes don't do that. They can't hide what they are even when they look like a person.” He released Sam and pushed his head back with a painful amount of force, and then turned the flashlight off. “Are we all convinced now?”

The lights were turned back on, and the guy who had asked for proof said, “Got it. Thanks, Derek.”

“Not a problem,” Derek replied. “Now, I say we work up a ransom demand, get it out there, and then celebrate a good day's work. But first, the White House will need proof we have their guy. They'll probably find the Secret Service agent fairly soon, but he won't be talking for a while. We have Mr. Seaborn's wallet to send them, but we also should set it up so we have some photos that will make a real statement.”

Sam's eyes widened as he imagined what Derek might mean. Then a few other members of the group started to come closer, and Derek leaned down to stare Sam directly in the face. “I'm going to cut the tape on your ankles, Mr. Seaborn, and then we're going to lead you into another room. If you even try to shift, this knife I'm about to use to cut the tape--” he opened the knife and then touched the cold metal to Sam's neck-- “will be used for something much more painful to you. Nod if you understand me.”

Sam did as he was told. Even if he were to shift, he knew he was vastly outnumbered, and he had little hope that he would somehow make it out of the room and out of this building without being seriously injured or killed.

“Good.” Derek started to crouch down with the knife, but then he stopped himself. “Oh, I almost forgot – I think one of my friends has something for you before we go anywhere else, Mr. Seaborn.”

One of the others, a short but powerfully-built guy wearing a stained white T-shirt under his beaten-up leather jacket, grinned and pulled something out of his pocket. Sam swallowed against a rising tide of humiliation when he saw what it was: a studded dog collar. Almost everyone in the room started laughing when Derek held it up for them to see. “Too bad we don't have a matching ID tag. Yet,” he said, to more laughter.

Sam struggled as much as he could – which wasn't much – when Derek and the guy who had given him the collar brought it near their captive. His bonds were too tight. All he managed to accomplish was to hurt his shoulders as he tried to twist away from them. In the end, it still only took them a few seconds to get it around Sam's neck, on the tightest possible notch without causing him to choke.

“One last thing before we get moving,” said Derek, turning to the short guy again. Still grinning, the guy pulled out a length of chain from his jacket pocket. “Since, after all, there are leash laws in most civilized parts of the world nowadays.” His companion held Sam still while Derek snapped the chain onto the ring on the collar, to more jeers and laughter from the crowd. Sam decided he would be able to handle this situation slightly better if he tried to channel his humiliation into anger. It was not at all hard to do, he realized, as he glared at Derek and the other man. In fact, it was so easy that Sam had to remind himself forcibly that to shift right now would probably lead to his death.

The hood was shoved over his face again, and then Sam felt the knife slice through the duct tape on his ankles and wrists. He was pulled to his feet, whereupon he staggered and nearly fell over as circulation returned to his limbs.

“Whoa, there,” came Derek's voice to his right, and then the other guy said scornfully, “I wonder if he walks better on four feet,” as he held onto Sam's arm to keep him from falling. Derek chuckled.

Within minutes, Sam's hands were taped tightly together in front of him, and then he was being pulled along by the chain in the dark, surrounded completely by the members of the anti-supernatural group. Despite the fact that he could still hear well, Sam couldn't keep himself from stumbling a few times as they left the room and went down a short hallway. Any time he did so, the collar choked him until he was pushed roughly back onto his feet.

It was a hellish process for Sam, even though it couldn't have taken all that much time. Finally, they stopped, and there was the sound of a door being opened in front of him. Next there was another pull on the chain, and Sam moved forward into the room. This room seemed like it was not as large as the other one, although based on what filtered through the black cloth over his face, the lighting was a little better. Sam kept moving until he was told to stop. In front of him, he heard the sound of metal hinges, and then most of the people around him stepped back a few feet.

“Duck your head,” came Derek's instruction. The chain went slack.

Sam did so. Someone pulled off the hood at the same moment as he was shoved forward, hard enough that he fell face-first into the large cage. Since his hands were still bound, he couldn't really catch himself. Instead, he landed with almost all of his weight on his wrists before he managed to roll to his side. The sharp pain and the sudden change in light distracted him from the sound of the cage door clanging shut behind him – but only for a second. 

“All right. Picture time.”

Derek gave Sam no time to prepare for the first camera flash, so Sam figured he probably looked just as terrified and in pain as he was. For the second shot, however, Sam pulled himself into a sitting position and faced the camera with what he hoped was a less helpless-seeming expression and posture. At least no one was pulling on the chain now.

“Okay, that'll do just fine,” said Derek. “Tom, you get the first shift of guard duty. Everyone else, let's go get these pictures out and then celebrate our good fortune.”

The guy who had provided the chain and the collar nodded, and then waited until everyone else had left the room. He gave Sam one more sneering, triumphant look. Then he attached the other end of the chain at the hinge near the top of the cage. When he was done, Tom turned off the lights and left the room as well, shutting and locking the door behind him. Sam assumed he'd be taking his post right outside.

As soon as he was alone, Sam looked around for something that might be useful in getting the duct tape off his wrists. Even though there was a small pane of glass in the door to the room through which Tom could watch him, Sam thought it was worth the risk. He assumed his captors would want to talk to him at some point, and he preferred the chance to take off the tape himself. There was a protruding bolt at the base of one corner of the cage, so he crawled awkwardly over to it and got to work. The chain was just long enough that he didn't have to cut off his air supply in order to reach the bolt. It was as he was getting started that he looked up and noticed that he'd been provided with water – in a dog dish – in the other corner nearest to him. His anger and shame grew, but he did his best to focus on the task at hand.

It didn't take too long for him to cut through enough of the tape that he was able to tear it the rest of the way off. Then he peeled the tape off his mouth as quickly as he could without causing himself unnecessary pain. It was not quite as easy to take off the collar, but as soon as he succeeded, Sam pushed it out of the cage as far as he could reach through the bars. It now rested on the ground outside the cage. Sam stared at it. He might not have been able to keep them from putting it on him in the first place, but there was no way in hell he was going to let it happen again. Not without a real fight.

Sam took a breath and leaned back against the bars of the cage. The enclosure he was in looked like it was not quite tall enough for him to stand up – on two legs, anyway. That was the point, no doubt, he thought bitterly. Other than that, there was enough space that he could pace back and forth. There was nothing else inside it other than the water dish.

The rest of the room appeared empty, although Sam was chilled by the sight of two other cages of about the same size as his. He wondered who else this group was targeting – or if the other cages were just in case they were lucky enough to run across more shifters. He also wondered how long it had been since he'd been taken. He had no idea how long it took for chloroform or whatever it was to wear off normally, much less for a shifter, and the very small window near the ceiling in this room was blocked by heavy, dark curtains. It had been after he left work that he'd been kidnapped. That meant it was more likely that no one would notice he was missing until he didn't come in tomorrow, or until the ransom note arrived, whichever came first.

A thought occurred to him then. _It's worth a shot_ , he decided, and stood up as far as he was able to walk to the door of the cage. As he expected, it was locked securely. The door didn't give even the tiniest bit when he pushed against it as hard as he could. All he accomplished, in fact, was to make himself aware of how sore he was from the way he had been tied to the chair, and from his subsequent fall on his face when they pushed him into this cage.

It was right about then, as he stooped to walk back to the far corner of the cage, that the full reality of his situation started to crash down on Sam. He was a captive. His captors regarded him as less than human, as vermin to be disposed of after they had gotten what they wanted from him. Apparently, they had also taken out Agent Harmon. It was ambiguous as to whether the agent was even still alive. Sam himself had no way of getting out of here, and even if he somehow managed to get out of the cage, there was no way he would make it out of the building alive.

Sam sat down heavily and put his head in his hands. Now that the adrenaline rush had all but faded, he knew he was going to have trouble holding it together. But there was a man outside the door who was probably watching him, and there was no way, _no way_ Sam would give his sadistic guard the satisfaction of breaking down. Besides, he wasn't going to stay stuck here until his captors were done with him. Someone would find him.

To distract himself, Sam cast around for anything else to think about. There was the fact that he was getting hungry – but that wasn't a really good distraction, since he guessed he wasn't going to get any food any time soon. That was depressing. There was also the speech he and Toby were working on for the President, to mark the occasion of the upcoming national day of remembrance for all those who had lost their lives as a direct result of what was now being called the Tumult. They had been working on it enough that he had significant portions of it memorized.

“Yeah,” he said under his breath, smiling slightly, “that'll work.” He closed his eyes and began to work through it in his head.

~


	2. News

~~~~~~

“CJ, can I talk to you?”

“What is it, Danny?” she said, making her way toward her office.

“I need to talk to you,” he said, following her.

“What is it, Danny?” she repeated. “Because I've got a meeting to get to as soon as-”

He walked into her office and stood by her desk. “You need to hear this.”

If his tone and facial expression weren't enough of a clue of how serious this was, she caught a hint of it from his thoughts. “Okay,” she said, shutting the door to her office. “What do I need to hear?”

“It's about Sam,” said Danny. He swallowed.

CJ realized he wasn't just gravely serious, he was scared. Her heart started to beat faster. “What about him? Danny, if you know something-”

“It's just hearsay,” he said. “But it's hearsay from people who have been right before. CJ, I've heard that he was kidnapped, and there are pictures that the kidnappers are going to release.”

CJ felt as if her whole body had been plunged into ice water. Of course kidnapping had been everyone's speculation when his Secret Service detail went missing, but... “Did you see these pictures yourself?”

“No,” he said. “I swear, confidential source or not, I would have made sure it got to the police or the Secret Service if I'd seen evidence that might help find Sam.”

She nodded. Of course he would. She knew that. “Right. So what do people say these pictures are of, exactly?”

“No one had exact details, but they're the kind of pictures you send when you want to get a ransom, very quickly,” said Danny.

It was CJ's turn to swallow. That did not sound good. Instead of imagining what that might look like, she brought her mind back to what she should do next. “So why haven't we – why hasn't the White House seen them yet?”

“Rumor is, the White House should have them today. But they may be sent to the press at the same time, so I figured you should have a heads-up,” Danny said. “I'm going to make sure the rumor gets to the right people in the LEO task force, too. I just wish I had more information. CJ, if this is true... I mean, I'm sorry about Sam. I hope they find him right away, no matter what happened.”

“Yeah,” she said. Her voice almost didn't shake at all. “Thanks, Danny. Uh, if you get these pictures, or you hear about someone else actually getting them, you'll let me know?”

“I will,” he said. After a moment, he spoke again. “Okay. I'll let you get to your meeting.”

“Yeah. See you around,” she said. When he'd left, she shook herself slightly, took a breath, and headed to the meeting. Whatever else was on the schedule, she now had a very important addition.

~~~~~~

When the pictures did arrive, later that day, everyone knew what the sudden meeting of the senior staff was about. CJ knew even before her friends, as she had felt it back at the bunker when the President had learned about what happened to Sam before. And again, as before, she knew the news was not good. In fact, the President's righteous anger and horror was even greater this time, and it made waiting for the actual meeting almost impossible.

As CJ, Toby, and Josh made their way to the Oval Office, Toby asked quietly, “Did you hear? I mean, like in the bunker, did you hear when the President heard?”

She nodded, already feeling ill as she tried not to imagine just how bad this would be. “I'm guessing it's going to be really bad, Toby.”

Josh, who hadn't been in the bunker during the incident Toby referred to, looked briefly like he wanted to ask for clarification when Toby spoke, but at CJ's response he shut his mouth and his expression darkened. By that point, they were there. Charlie let them in, and they entered to see the President and Leo sitting down.

“I'm sure you all already know, but it seems Danny Concannon's sources were right,” said the President. His voice was flat, though it didn't take much to hear that he was extremely upset.

“You were sent pictures, Mr. President?” Toby asked, crossing his arms.

The President nodded. “And a ransom note.”

“What are we dealing with, sir?” Josh said. He cleared his throat.

“It's an anti-supernatural group, like we thought,” said Leo. He sounded grim. “Their demands are a load of fear-mongering, hate-filled garbage that they have to know will never go over.”

“And what about Sam?” said Toby.

“He's alive,” said the President, standing and moving to lean on his desk. He took a deep breath and let it out. “They haven't physically hurt him, so far as I can tell, but...” He clenched his jaw. “God damn it, these people are the animals, never mind what they say about shifters!”

CJ wasn't trying to pick anything up – in fact, with emotions running so high in the room, she was focusing hard on shielding herself – but she caught a glimpse from the President of what the photos had looked like. She made an involuntary sound of horror. He was right: anyone who could do that to someone else didn't deserve to be called human. Before anyone could ask her what was wrong, she cleared her throat and spoke. Her voice was trembling, but she kept going. “Mr. President, does anyone know if those pictures are in fact going to be released to the press? Because no one should see that.”

Understanding dawned on his face, and he nodded. “The LEO task force said they're keeping a lid on it.”

“Good,” she said. The image of Sam cruelly caged and helpless wasn't leaving her head. She thought she might throw up. Now was definitely not the time, though. She couldn't prevent tears from threatening, but she did her best to focus on breathing.

“So. Now we know what happened to Sam, and as God-awful as the pictures are, I'm told the FBI crime lab might get something about Sam's location from them. We have 72 hours from this morning to get Sam out of there,” said the President.

“Or?” Josh's voice was rather faint.

“These are terrorists, Josh,” said Leo. “They may not call themselves that, but they are. They're going to kill Sam if we don't comply with their demands. Hell, they're probably planning to kill him anyway, just to make a point.”

CJ heard the particularly vicious epithet Leo added silently after he spoke, and agreed wholeheartedly. “Sir, what would you like us to do, in the meantime?”

“We've got to get our own statement out,” Leo said. “Something's going to come out, anyway. Just the bare facts of who took him and why. Anything else, we can say would be a possible hindrance to the investigation.”

“But we inform the public of the stated reasoning behind the crime, and express our very sincere abhorrence of it,” Toby said. “And our determination to get Sam back safely.”

“Yeah,” said Leo.

The President nodded. “Other than that, keep your eyes and ears open for anything we should know. You'll be told as soon as I know anything.” He sighed. “God, I wish there was something else we could all do.”

There was a pause. “Mr. President, Sam's family...” Josh started to say. He trailed off.

“That's what I'm going to do next,” the President said.

“Okay,” said Josh. His face was still blank and shuttered.

“Okay,” the President echoed. “That's all for now.”

~~~~~~

CJ didn't really know how she got through the press briefing without breaking down, or yelling something obscene, or simply being unable to speak. Yet somehow she had, and had answered the few questions that she could, and then she had escaped to her office. With her door closed behind her, she fell into her chair and debated whether or not now might be a good time to do one or more of those things that she hadn't done during the briefing.

Thinking about it was enough to bring the mental image of the photo back into her head. She took in a deep breath. Dwelling on it wouldn't help, she told herself – it would just make it harder for her to do her job. Just then, a knock at the door startled her, but she bit back her outcry. “Yeah?” she called.

Josh opened the door. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Okay,” she said.

He closed the door again behind him. “I take it you saw what the President saw? The pictures?”

She rested her head on her hands, closing her eyes for a moment. “Yes. And I wish to God I hadn't.” For the second time that day, CJ caught just a brief image – this time, from Josh's memory of where he had been held before Sam and his group had broken him out. “No, it was even worse than that.” She grimaced at his surprised look. “Sorry. You know, if I could just not do that, that would be so much better.”

He sighed. “So I really don't want to know?”

“You really, really don't,” said CJ. “And I'd rather try to think about something else.”

Josh nodded, but didn't move. She knew he believed her, and wanted to respect her wish to distract herself with work, but he still couldn't quite make himself try to forget about it. “It's just... I remember what it was like, for me. And if you say it's worse, I feel like I should know.”

“Josh,” she said. “I think I know what you mean, but why would that help? It's not going to help you or Sam or anyone to dwell on it, right? At least, that's what I'm telling myself.”

“Right,” he said. “Yeah, I guess you're right.” After a moment more, he turned to go. “Sorry to bother you.”

“No, it's not a bother,” she said. “They'll find him, Josh.”

“Yeah,” he said, although he didn't sound sure. Of course, she wasn't either.

Her sureness took another blow when they heard the report on Agent Harmon, the Secret Service agent who had been assigned to Sam after he'd gone public with being a shifter. Harmon had been found in an alley near Sam's apartment, alive but beaten so badly they'd had to put him in a medically-induced coma. Four rounds were missing from his service weapon, and techs were analyzing blood found at the scene to see if any of it would lead to the kidnappers. But no one thought any clue they might have gotten from the crime scene was worth what had happened to Agent Harmon. It was just more bad news making everyone feel even more awful, if that was even possible.


	3. Waiting

~

He must have been able to relax enough to fall asleep, because the muffled sound of conversation outside his door brought him awake abruptly. Then the lock clicked. In spite of the stiffness and soreness throughout most of his body, Sam scrambled to sit up as fast as he could. The light was flicked on a second later, and Sam squinted against the brightness until he made out Derek standing just inside the doorway.

“I thought you shifters were supposed to sleep during the day,” Derek remarked almost conversationally.

Sam wasn't sure what it would accomplish to answer. Still, he figured, what the hell. “It's a choice. I chose differently than some.”

Derek just nodded. He walked further into the room at a leisurely pace, seeming to study Sam's cage from all angles. When he saw the collar outside the cage, he raised his eyebrows, but to Sam's surprise he did nothing. It was several more seconds before he spoke again. “We sent out the ransom letter and the pictures,” he said finally. “I'm sure we'll be hearing back from your shifter-loving friends at the White House soon enough.”

At this, Sam kept silent. The anger was dangerously close to the surface again, but he had the overwhelming feeling that if he were to transform, that would just make it all the more likely that these people would completely give in to their fear and hate. Also, he wanted to be sure he had all of his wits about him in case there was some opportunity to get out of this.

“I notice you haven't drunk any water,” Derek said, nodding to the full water dish. “You must be thirsty. That's what it's there for.”

Sam was thirsty, in fact, but he stayed where he was and kept his gaze on the other man. “What did you do to Agent Harmon?”

Derek smiled very unpleasantly. “You mean your bodyguard? He got what he deserved, for getting in the way.”

“What he--” Sam couldn't finish the sentence. The thought of Harmon, whom Sam genuinely liked (although he would have preferred not to have to have Secret Service protection at all) lying dead in an alley made him feel sick and even more furious.

“Although I will say that he gave us some trouble before we took him out,” Derek continued. “That should be comforting. Or maybe not.”

It wasn't really comforting, though Sam felt a certain amount of grim satisfaction at this revelation.

“Anyway, I'm guessing you're getting hungry, too. I hear shifters have big appetites. We'll get you something to eat in a little bit.” With that, Derek turned and left the room, closing and locking the door behind himself.

Sam waited until he was sure that Derek was gone before reaching for the water dish. At least it was basically a bowl, so it was possible to drink out of it without pouring it all over himself. That wasn't to say he didn't still feel the degradation keenly – but he needed water, and that was more important.

When his thirst was somewhat satisfied, Sam wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and sat back against the bars of the cage again, wincing slightly as he hit a sore spot. Judging by the little bit of light that came through the thick curtains behind him, it was pretty early in the morning. He hoped things might already be set in motion as far as the Secret Service tracking him down. It had been long enough since he had first gone public with the news that he was a shifter that he had begun to think the Secret Service protection that Ron Butterfield, the President, and Leo had insisted he have was unnecessary – he hadn't gotten a new death threat in some time, after all – but Agent Harmon and his team had remained vigilant. Sam could be pretty sure that they had already set something in motion as far as tracking him down. He also could hope that Agent Harmon was not, in fact, dead. Maybe he was recovering in a hospital by now.

This line of thought made Sam wonder again how this particular group had known where he was in enough time to organize an abduction. His itinerary wasn't a state secret, but neither was it exactly common knowledge. Then he suddenly recalled the incident several weeks ago when he had run into Kevin Franks in the hall outside the West Wing – literally run into him, causing the other man to drop some of the papers he'd been carrying.

Sam had automatically apologized and bent down to help Franks gather his papers before he realized who it was: the man CJ had warned him about, who had extremely virulent anti-shifter feelings. Franks had realized who Sam was at about the same time, it seemed, because his expression had gone from annoyed to a mask of politeness very quickly.

“Thanks for your help, Mr. Seaborn,” Franks had said in a nearly emotionless tone, after Sam handed him the papers. He had made an effort not to touch Sam at all in the process of taking them.

“Yeah. Again, sorry about that,” Sam had replied. He hadn't needed CJ's telepathic ability to know that Franks had stared after him for several minutes when he continued down the hall. They had not come into contact at all since then. The Secret Service was aware of the man's attitude toward shifters, so Sam hadn't felt it necessary to bring up the incident to Agent Harmon.

Now, thinking back, Sam couldn't help wondering if Franks might have found some way to learn his schedule so that he could pass along the information to the highest bidder. It made sense. _Not that figuring this out now does me any good_ , Sam mused wryly.

His stomach growled, and Sam frowned. Derek had said they were going to give him food, but Sam wasn't going to put much trust in anything Derek said. It was going to be hard to ignore his hunger for long, though.

Just a few minutes later, the bolt in the door was drawn back again, and this time there were several people standing outside. The tall guy who last night had called for Sam to be killed – Alex, Sam thought his name might be – was there, along with Tom the guard. Tom was carrying a bag of dry dog food, and a plastic plate with some kind of raw meat on it. Both of the men were smiling cruelly. Sam's stomach turned, and he felt himself flush.

“Here's your breakfast, freak,” said Alex, coming in and opening the lock on the cage door. Tom dropped the bag and the plate inside.

“It's self-serve. Enjoy,” added Tom, with a mocking little half-bow. Then the two of them laughed and departed.

Sam stared at what they had left for him. The thought of eating any part of it made him feel sick – but at the same time he was so hungry. Even though the hamburger meat smelled like it was just starting to go bad, that didn't change the fact that if he were to shift, his wolf self would be more than happy to eat it. He'd be less interested in the dog food, but since it had been so long since he'd eaten, he would in all likelihood end up breaking into that as well. But no, he wasn't going to shift.

Hours passed. No one bothered him, although Sam could hear it when the guard changed outside his door. He was getting hungrier and hungrier, and it was getting harder and harder to resist changing into the wolf so he could eat. He tried to work on the speech some more, but it didn't distract him nearly as well this time. He tried to keep his eyes shut and his nose buried in the sleeve of his shirt. That didn't really work, either.

By the time the light from outside began to fade, Sam wasn't sure how much more of this he could take. He needed to eat. He was starting to feel dizzy from lack of food – and he had long since finished the water in the dish, for that matter. But if he changed … if he shifted, he would be giving in, and giving his tormentors more of an excuse to view him as an animal, and to treat him as such. He had no doubt of this. And there was no way he could eat what had been given to him if he didn't shift.

Sam held out for the entire day. A few times he noticed that someone was looking into the room from the small window in the door, but whoever it was never watched for long. Maybe they were just checking to see if he'd given in yet.

When it was totally dark, Sam stretched out a little on the cold concrete floor, closing his eyes and hoping that exhaustion would win out over hunger. It did, for a while. But when something woke him a few hours later, in the middle of the night, the hunger pangs and the presence of something he could eat so close to him proved impossible to ignore. He felt like a weakling, and like he was betraying his own conscience. But he also had the feeling that if he waited too much longer, he would actually render himself physically weak enough that he would be unable to resist whatever his captors wanted to do to him. At least after he had shifted and eaten, he told himself as he sat up and began to unbutton his shirt, he might regain some strength.

It took a little more concentration than it usually did for Sam to be able to make the change, so distracting was his need for food. By the time he was in wolf form, the hamburger meat and the dog food both seemed like good options. Although it took him longer to tear into the bag, Sam ate a significant portion of that as well, in record time. Throughout the entire meal, Sam did his best not to think about what he was doing. Instead, he let his instincts drive him. This lessened the humiliation, making it something that he still noticed, but much less intensely.

After he had eaten, Sam stretched and yawned, feeling vastly better. His human mind wondered if he should change back, but decided against it since past experience warned him he wouldn't be able to keep down what he had just eaten as soon as he was back in human form. That, in turn, would defeat the whole purpose. So, although he couldn't entirely forget about the reasons why having shifted might be a very bad idea, he walked over to where he had folded his clothes and lay down. He might as well try to get some rest, he thought.

Sam jerked awake a few hours before sunrise with the panicked feeling that he was forgetting something extremely important. He was on his feet, ears back and heart pounding, before he could convince himself that it had just been a dream. He still knew who he was. He hadn't forgotten his human identity, even though this was the longest he had spent in wolf form in a very long time.

Sam crossed the short distance to the end of the cage closest to the entrance to the room and listened. Everything seemed to be quiet outside the door. There was a guard posted, but his quiet, even breathing suggested he was asleep. Sam decided he could probably take this chance to shift back.  
~


	4. Reconnaissance

~~~~~~

It was getting close to evening when CJ stepped out of her office to ask Toby something. Before she had even reached the door, though, she felt something alarmingly familiar. It was someone, actually. She was chilled when she recognized it as the same malice she had felt when she had been helping the Secret Service interview Kevin Franks back in the bunker, after the shifter attack on the President. She turned, as casually as she could bring herself to turn, and saw that Franks was standing out in the hall, right outside the offices.

While pretending to read the file that she was carrying, CJ concentrated a bit, narrowing her focus on him. What was he doing here? Sickened, she saw his satisfaction at what he had heard on TV about Sam, and further, at the agitation he'd been seeing in her and the other senior staff, as well as the Secret Service. In his mind, it was clear that they all deserved it for their loyalty to a disgusting non-human like Sam.

She remembered what she had first read in Mr. Franks as clearly as if it had happened yesterday: his hatred of shifters brought on by a family member having been murdered by one, and the violence he now thought all shifters should suffer because of it. And now that she scanned him again, wasn't his level of satisfaction a little too high for someone who was just happy that something had randomly happened to the coworker he knew was a shifter?

CJ continued to pretend to read her file. In reality, she was digging deeper into his mind than she normally would be comfortable with. She saw that he had actually come in contact with Sam only weeks ago, and then... She tightened her grip on the folder. Then he had started to watch him, while doing his best to be discreet about it since he had noticed the Secret Service detail assigned to Sam.

By now the file in her hands was in danger of becoming illegible. Franks had systematically put together a schedule of Sam's normal activities and he had met up with some acquaintances of his with similar views on shifters. And then. CJ pressed her lips together to keep from exclaiming in fury. Then he had steered the conversation around to how degrading it was to be working in the same office with Sam. He had casually mentioned that he knew where Sam was likely to be on any given day, and when there would be the least amount of people watching him, if anyone wanted to do anything about the situation.

Suddenly, as CJ was following the memory to its conclusion, she felt Franks become aware of a headache starting to build, and he started to move away. Doggedly, she hung on and moved with him without leaving where she stood. Yes. There it was. Someone had asked for more details, and Franks had given them.

And now CJ knew what the other man looked like. She withdrew her attention from Franks (not regretting in the least the headache that she had caused him) and turned to Carol's desk. “Carol?” She made sure Franks was out of earshot when her assistant asked what she needed. “Could you contact the President and Leo and tell them I have something they need to know? And tell them the Secret Service will want to be in on this, too. It's urgent.”

Carol's eyes widened, but she did as she was told without asking.

Ten minutes later, CJ, Toby, Josh, Leo, and Agent Ron Butterfield were in the Oval Office with the President. The President had also asked Charlie if he wanted to be there, and he did. CJ quickly finished giving her report. “I know what this guy looks like now. Franks didn't seem to know his name, but this has to be a lead.”

Agent Butterfield nodded. “I agree. We can get you set up with a sketch artist right away.”

“I could do that,” CJ said. “Although I may have a different way.”

“What do you mean, CJ?” asked the President, who had been silent until then.

She hesitated for a moment. “Uh, well, I think I could... pass on what I saw, right now. Project it, I guess? I mean, only if that would be more convenient. I suppose the task force would still need a physical copy of a picture of this guy...” She trailed off, realizing she was starting to babble.

“You could do that, like what happened with me and you, earlier today?” said the President.

“Like that, sir, except on purpose,” CJ said, not quite smiling.

“Would that be helpful, Ron?” the President asked him.

“If I'm understanding what you both mean correctly, I think it would save a little time, Mr. President,” said Butterfield. “You're right that we still need a physical copy of a picture to distribute to the task force, CJ, but I do have more experience with sketch artists and facial recognition. So it would save time, and time is of the essence with any kidnapping.”

CJ nodded. “Okay. Are you ready?”

Ron's mouth quirked into an almost-smile of his own. “I can't say that I even quite know how to be ready, but go for it.”

She gave a short laugh. “You and me both. Okay.” She closed her eyes, feeling faintly ridiculous, and focused on the image she had retrieved from Franks' memory, and then imagined it being sent to Ron. “Did that work?”

He blinked, voice sounding surprised. “Yeah. It did.” She could feel his shock at how the image had just appeared in his mind, but all he said was, “Mr. President, I'm going to get this to a composite artist and get the task force moving on it right away. Meanwhile, with regard to Mr. Franks, my suggestion is that we take him in for questioning. We might be able to find out more.”

“Excuse me, Mr. President. Ron, what grounds can we give him for the arrest?” Leo asked.

“My suggestion there would be an anonymous tip that he might know something,” Ron put in, glancing at CJ.

“Yeah,” said the President. “Do it.”

“Thank you, Mr. President,” said Ron, and he turned on his heel and left.

“Well,” said Josh, after a pause. “CJ, when we get Sam back, I'm pretty sure he'll agree with me: we're going to have to start calling you Professor X or something.”

CJ rolled her eyes, but smiled even as she blushed. “As long as you know I'm not answering to that.”

“So does that mean you're still giving me permission, Professor?” Josh replied immediately.

“Hey, Toby, did you hear someone talking just then?” CJ asked, pointedly not looking at Josh.

“If I could cut in with a serious remark or two, children,” the President said. “I want to thank you, CJ. This could be what we need to find Sam before the deadline.”

“Sir, you're welcome, but I'm not counting on anything until we actually have him back,” CJ said. Anything to get him out of that situation as soon as possible, she thought to herself.

“All right,” said the President. “Unless anyone has anything else useful to add, we'll all go back to hoping and praying, for the time being.”


	5. The Raid

~~~~~~~

CJ woke the next morning from a dream so disturbing that she was relieved to be awake. It faded as soon as she sat up to turn off her alarm, but she was fairly certain it had involved someone being tortured. Whatever it had been about, she must have been having similar restless dreams all night, because she felt as if she had pulled an all-nighter. Still, she made sure to get ready promptly, if only since she knew the sooner she got to work, the sooner she might hear news about Sam.

Sure enough, the President met with the senior staff right away with an update. Kevin Franks had been threatened with charges of conspiracy to commit assault on a federal officer as well as conspiracy to commit kidnapping, and had eventually confessed his role in exchange for the promise of a reduced sentence. (Of course, how exactly CJ might be involved when his case went to court was something they were going to need to work out at some future point.) He had indeed not known the name of the man he had told about Sam's whereabouts. However, he thought he might know generally the part of Virginia where the man lived, since he had been close enough when the man had gotten into a cab to overhear part of the address he'd given the driver.

The FBI forensics people had worked from that information and from what little they had been able to divine from the picture about what kind of building Sam was in. (Unfortunately, the blood retrieved from the scene didn't match anyone in any databases.) All this meant they had narrowed down a district in Virginia to start searching, and canvassing nearby businesses and residences to see if anyone had seen anything.

“I asked Ron, and he said this means there's a chance – a small chance, but still a possibility – that they might be able to find Sam today,” the President said.

“That's excellent news, sir,” said Toby.

“Yes, it is,” he replied.

“Is there any danger in raiding the building if they find it, Mr. President?” asked Josh. “I mean, these guys might not be willing to let Sam get rescued.”

“They know that's a possibility,” Leo said. “And they're not going to attack without making sure they know what they're getting into.”

Josh nodded. “Good.”

CJ noticed that it didn't look like he had slept very well last night, either. Probably no one had. She cleared her throat. “I assume I won't be giving the press anything more than that we're following up on several leads.”

“Yes, leave it at that,” said Leo. “We don't want to tip anyone off.”

They were dismissed, but Josh paused before he left. “Oh. Mr. President, I – I thought of something that the task force should know, for when they find Sam.”

“What is it, Josh?” asked the President.

He hesitated. “Um. Well, I guess Sam might find this embarrassing but it's still better than them not knowing.”

CJ picked it up before he finished, and when she thought about it, she had to agree. And it was rather sweet of Josh to think of it.

“It's just that, if Sam has to... if they find him and he's had to shift, someone should tell the task force to bring along something for him to wear, just in case,” Josh finished, somewhat haltingly.

The President nodded after a moment, several different expressions passing over his face before he spoke. “I'll make sure they know. Thanks, Josh. Oh, and on those same lines, I guess – I did remember to tell them that there wasn't going to be any drugging of anyone unless the situation absolutely requires it. And if they decide it requires it, I'll need evidence to that effect. I won't have Sam go through that again.”

~~~~~~~

Later, CJ, Josh, and Toby found themselves in the mess hall at the same time. It went without saying that none of them wanted to be too far away in case news came about Sam. Although none of them had much appetite for lunch, they also all needed to be out of their offices for a little while. They sat in silence for a few minutes. “This is pretty pathetic,” CJ said, eventually. “We're not even doing a good job of pretending we're eating.”

“I finished my roll,” Josh pointed out, with a self-deprecating smile. “But you're right, this is sad. Especially when you consider that if Sam were here, he'd already be having seconds or thirds.”

CJ smiled, although it didn't last long as she tried not to worry that people who would be willing to put Sam in a cage might not be willing to make sure he had enough to eat. “Yeah.”

They lapsed back into apprehensive silence for several minutes. Toby finally spoke. “You'd tell us if you could... if you felt anything, right, CJ?”

“I'd tell you,” she said. “There's nothing yet.”

“Oh, right, I was wondering about that earlier,” Josh said. “So you knew something had happened before Charlie came and got us, when the President first got the pictures?”

“Yes,” she said, giving up on her remaining food and leaning back in her chair. “I could feel when the President got very angry. And it was the same back in the bunker, when the National Guard called about you and Sam.”

Josh's eyebrows rose. “Huh. Can you do that for other people, or is it just the President?”

CJ sighed. “I honestly have no idea, Josh. I'd have to say no one else has been in that position relative to me since all this started. I mean, that we all knew some kind of news was coming, and that it would come to the President first.”

“So you were expecting it,” Josh said.

“I wouldn't go quite that far,” she countered. “There's still almost nothing about this that I'd call expected.”

“Good point,” was his reply. His gaze went a bit far away, and she didn't look to see what he was thinking about. Then he blinked and seemed to rouse himself. “So it's not like you could try to see what Sam was feeling or thinking all the way from here?”

She shook her head. “It doesn't seem to work like that.” She had tried, feeling silly while doing so, to search for him the previous day, but nothing had come of it. “Obviously I would have told the task force if I thought I could find him. Maybe he's too far away, I don't know.”

“Yeah,” Josh said.

CJ was going to change the subject before he asked another question when she realized that Charlie was looking for them and turned to see him approaching. “Charlie, what is it?”

“The President and Leo want to see you all. There's an update on Sam,” Charlie said.

“They found him?” Toby said, as they all stood.

“Sorry, I just know there's an update,” said Charlie.

Out of curiosity, and because they'd been talking about it, CJ checked to see if she could tell anything further as they made their way to the Oval Office. It didn't seem like it could be anything too bad, if the lack of strong emotional response from the President was anything to go on. Still, she decided not to say anything just in case. As she had told Josh, it wasn't like she felt she had enough experience with this to be sure.

The President informed them upon their arrival that the task force had made a positive ID on the man Franks had interacted with. His name was Derek Henshaw, and they had tracked him through several leads to one particular location, an empty apartment building that witnesses had seen him enter and exit. “All the evidence points to this place. So they're launching the raid any minute now,” the President finished. “I've been assured that they've done enough recon to know they have the manpower to pull this off with the least possible risk to Sam.”

Toby asked a question, but CJ was suddenly distracted by a sharp feeling of terror. It wasn't hers or anyone's in the room. In fact, whether it had something to do with having just talked about this possibility or not, she was almost positive it was Sam's. “Oh, God,” she couldn't help saying out loud.

“CJ? What's wrong?” Leo asked.

“Uh,” she said, still trying to figure out if she could tell what was happening. “I think I – I think the attack just started. But something's wrong. I'm sorry, I can't tell anything more than that, except something must be wrong, because Sam's scared and he's supposed to be being rescued.”

There was a pause, and before anyone could response, she shook her head. “Okay, I don't know if he's not scared anymore or what, but that's it. I can't feel it anymore.” She blinked and noticed that everyone in the room was staring at her. She sighed, and pushed a lock of hair behind her ear with a hand that shook slightly.

The President was still obviously rather taken aback, but he stuck to the most urgent matter of business. “They'll give me a report as soon as the action is over.” He started to say something else, then seemed to change his mind. “CJ, are you sure that's all you know?”

“I'm sorry, sir,” she said. “I wish I knew what I was doing, but this is all kind of instinctive, I guess.” She tried to cast her mind back to where she had felt Sam. There still wasn't much. Although she was still fairly sure she could sense him, she couldn't tell anything about what was going on, which was frustrating. All of a sudden, she heard something. “Wait,” she said quietly, and closed her eyes to concentrate harder. “I think...”

“What, CJ?” Toby was asking, but she had to concentrate.

“Someone there, I think someone on the task force, he's a telepath, too,” CJ said. She didn't even know how she was doing this from miles away, but she quickly mentally identified herself to the man, and said she was on the President's staff, and a friend of Sam's. “He says they found Sam. Oh my God, these idiots captured a vampire, too.” She heard Josh's sharp intake of breath and felt as everyone's worry ratcheted up several notches. “It's dead. Sam must have... gotten it.”

She was too tense to speak as the agent from the task force tried to calm Sam down enough to talk to him. _God, don't hurt him,_ she thought urgently. Agent White (she heard him introduce himself to Sam) understood. “I think...” she said, trailing off again. “I think it's going to be okay.”

“Is he hurt?” Leo asked.

She waited for Agent White to answer that question. “I don't think so.” She breathed a sigh of relief as she got a more complete description. “He's fine. Agent White is going to report to the people in charge. I guess you're about to get that phone call, Mr. President.” She told the agent to tell Sam they were all glad he was okay, then thanked him and came back fully to herself.

It was like her ears had just popped after coming down a steep hill. After a moment of lightheadedness, her awareness of her surroundings became clear and focused. The surprise and relief on her friends' faces was palpable, but there was also some awe there, CJ thought. She blushed and wished there wasn't.

“Seriously, CJ,” Josh said. “Whenever you're done with this job, you should start your own school for mutant kids. I mean it.”

CJ shot him a glare and opened her mouth to retort, but the ringing phone interrupted.

The President picked it up. “Yes? That's very good to hear. Great. And the terrorists?” There was a pause. “All right. Thank you, agent. Tell Sam I'm glad to hear he's all right. We'll meet him at GW.” He hung up. “They're taking Sam to George Washington hospital for evaluation, but like CJ said, he seems to be all right.”

“That's great news, Mr. President,” said Leo. “What about his captors?”

“Two of them refused to surrender and were killed in the raid. About twenty others were arrested,” the President said.

“Do they think that's all of them, sir?” Toby wanted to know.

“They don't know yet,” the President replied. “But they're hopeful that interrogating those they have will provide that answer. Meanwhile, as soon as I've called Sam's mother, I'm going to head to the hospital. Charlie, we'll reschedule anything else I have for the rest of the day.”

“Yes, sir,” said Charlie.

There wasn't even any discussion about whether or not everyone else would go. They simply waited for the President to leave first before all heading to the hospital themselves. Since the President had arrived first, it was easy to know where to go when they got there. “We probably shouldn't all go in at once, though,” said CJ. “It might be a bit much for him to deal with.”

“Well, the President and Leo are already in there,” Josh pointed out. He looked around for a moment, wincing almost imperceptibly. CJ realized with a pang that wasn't entirely secondhand that he had been looking for Donna. He cleared his throat. “And I'm guessing Charlie's with them. So then it'll just be three more of us after they're done.”

“True,” she said.

“But you said he's all right, right?” Toby asked.

“Yeah,” said CJ. “I mean, Agent White said he wasn't hurt.”

“He's going to be fine,” said the President, coming toward them. “He's dehydrated and exhausted, so they're keeping him one night for observation.”

“We're not going to wake him up, are we?” asked CJ.

“No, he knows you're here,” said the President. “Go see him.”

They thanked him and went to Sam's room. Josh knocked on the open door and then they entered. Sam looked tired and pale, but his smile when he saw them was definitely genuine. “Hi,” he said.

“Hey, Sam,” said CJ, smiling back. “How are you feeling?”

“I've been better,” said Sam, “but considering everything, not bad.”

“As I recall, room service here is pretty good,” Josh remarked, “although the food's not great. Also, remember you're probably going to be charged for receiving treatment out of network. Make sure you know a good lawyer.”

“Damn, I forgot to tell the EMTs to pick a different hospital,” Sam said. His wry smile faded. “But it's not like I can complain about that. Or the food, actually.”

CJ got just a bit of what he was comparing the hospital food to, and her stomach turned yet again. Before she could think of anything to say, however, Sam told Toby he'd been working on the speech for the day of remembrance during the past few days.

“Well, I'd say we should compare notes, but I will admit that my work on that project hasn't been very fruitful just recently,” said Toby. Sam looked touched, even without Toby vocalizing why he might have been distracted.

“So, Sam, I've been telling CJ that we need to start calling her Professor X – what do you think?” Josh asked.

CJ groaned. “And I've been telling Josh to shut up.”

“I'm guessing he hasn't been listening,” Sam said. “And he has a point. I was definitely not expecting to hear from you all the way wherever in Virginia that was.”

“I wasn't expecting to be able to do that,” CJ replied, shrugging. “I guess I learn something new every day.”

Sam laughed, then grew serious. “Well, in any case, thanks, CJ.”

She nodded. “I'd say 'anytime,' but I'm hoping there won't be another time.”

“Yeah,” said Toby.

“Amen to that,” agreed Josh.

Sam nodded, too. “The President mentioned we won't be seeing Kevin Franks around the White House anymore? That's... good, I guess.” He moved his left arm over and watched the IV tubing move in response.

“Maybe not great, considering why, but it's better than the alternative,” CJ said.

“Much better,” said Toby.

“Score another one for-” Josh started to say.

“I'm serious, Josh, shut up,” CJ interrupted, having anticipated him. “Anyway.” She quickly cast her mind around for a different subject.

Sam glanced between the two of them and grinned. “Hey, don't stop the argument on my behalf. It's extremely entertaining.”

“Well, that's terrific,” said Josh. “We aim to please.”

Toby scoffed. “As much as we'd like to be your floor show, I'm guessing they want you to be able to rest.”

“Probably,” said Sam, sighing. The sigh turned into a yawn. “Sorry. It's good to see you all.”

“You, too,” said CJ. She hoped this much more peaceful and sane image of all of them together might replace in her mind the pictures the President had been sent.


	6. Found

~

It was not exactly pleasant to get dressed in the same clothes he'd been wearing for two days now, but it was a relief to be himself again, Sam thought. He had evidently succeeded in avoiding any interaction with any of his captors while in wolf form. This was a good thing. Of course, they would see the evidence that he had given in and eaten what they gave him as soon as they checked on him … but at least he was alive, and not starving. Sam would have to be okay with that for now. And at least enough time had gone by since he had eaten it that hardly any remnants of the taste remained.

There was no way Sam could go back to sleep. He wished there was something else to do, but he couldn't seem to concentrate on any more modifications to the speech for the day of remembrance. It was getting harder to hope that someone would find him soon and get him out of here, too. Rationally, he knew that it still hadn't been all that long since he'd been kidnapped, but it felt like an eternity had already passed. He wondered if his family knew, and what they were thinking right now if so. He hoped his mother wasn't waiting for news by herself.

Thoughts of his parents, as usual, brought with them a fresh stab of pain. Sam didn't want to dwell on the memories surrounding his father's funeral – but it wasn't like there were a whole lot of happier subjects to think about while he was locked in a cage by a group of terrorists plotting his death.

It was almost a relief when Sam heard the sound of approaching footsteps. He sat up and waited. The door was pushed open to reveal Derek and what looked like about half of the rest of the group, crowded around the doorway. Derek turned on the light and came inside. He barely glanced at Sam before looking over his shoulder and calling, “All right, bring her in.”

 _What?!_ Sam stood up as far as was possible. He took a deep breath – and then recoiled as he caught the unmistakable scent of a vampire.

Sure enough, a few seconds later, Tom and another man carried in the unconscious vampire, who was gagged as Sam had been and whose wrists and ankles were bound with tape. Based on the bruises on her face and the bleeding scratch marks on the faces of those carrying her, she had put up a fight before being knocked out. Derek went ahead of his men to open the cage at the back of the room, and then the men tossed her in – none too gently.

As soon as the cage was locked, Derek turned to look at Sam. “As you can see, we brought you some company, Sam. She anyone you know?”

Ignoring the snickers from some of the others, Sam shook his head. “I don't associate with vampires.”

“Oh?” Derek looked amused. He had a bruise on his face, too, Sam noticed. “So you're saying some freaks are better than others?”

Sam said nothing.

Derek's gaze traveled to the torn-open bag in Sam's cage. He smiled. “I see. And this is coming from the shifter who ate half a bag of Dog Chow last night.”

The laughter from the others was much louder now. Sam clenched his hands into fists, but he didn't look away. “I don't kill people or suck their blood,” he said. “So yes, I think that qualifies me as better.”

Derek's amusement faded. He took a step closer to the cage, and Sam fought the impulse to step back. “You don't kill people, huh?” The other man's voice was dangerously quiet.

“No, I don't,” Sam replied. In his time with Phil's group after he had been turned, he had participated in raids on anti-supernatural groups and fought with vampires, but the only times he had ever come close to killing anyone, it was purely self-defense. Sam had the feeling that Derek wouldn't care to listen to his explanation, though, so he left it at that.

Derek's eyes were narrowed. “You're an animal. Just like her.” He jerked his head toward the other cage. “I've got other, more important things to do right now,” he said, stepping back away from the cage bars, “or I might decide to stay and teach you that lesson.”

At this, Sam couldn't keep his gaze from flicking to where the collar was still lying on the floor. Derek saw where he was looking, and he very deliberately walked over to take it off the chain and put it in his pocket. “Later, then.”

Derek pushed past the others in the doorway, who apparently only reluctantly decided the show was over and followed him. Once again, when the door was shut, a guard was stationed outside.

Sam exhaled heavily, nearly collapsing back to the floor of the cage. If he had started to forget how perilous his situation was, that little confrontation had reminded him very well. And as if he needed something else in the mix, now he was sharing this room with a vampire. Assuming her cage was as strong as his was, there was very little chance she could break out – but her proximity was still going to mean that he would not be able to let his guard down even slightly from now on. It was an instinctive reaction, one that he had dealt with on any previous occasion when he had to interact with vampires.

Ten or so minutes later, the vampire stirred and moaned. Sam tensed. He didn't have to wait long.

With another moan, the vampire slowly and awkwardly sat up, blinking when she looked in Sam's direction, which was also the direction of the window. She inhaled, froze, and then focused her gaze on him. Then she looked away and began to search her cage. Within a few seconds, she had found the same solution as Sam had found to remove the tape on her wrists, and then the rest of the bindings followed. As soon as she had peeled the tape off her mouth, she leaned back against the bars of her cage with a sigh. “Ugh, that hurt,” she muttered. Her gaze moved slowly back to Sam. “I guess I'm not the only unlucky supernatural in the area. Hello there.”

Sam blinked. “Um, hi.”

“I'm Kathryn. Who are you?”

This was just plain bizarre. Never in all of Sam's experience had a vampire shown any even sort of genuine-seeming interest in learning the name of a non-vampire. “You want to know my name?”

“I asked for it, didn't I?” she replied, raising an eyebrow. She was fairly pretty, if you looked past the predatory traits common to vampires.

“Yeah, I guess you did.” Sam leaned back against the bars of his own cage. What the hell, he thought. “I'm Sam.”

“Nice to meet you, Sam,” Kathryn said. “How long have you been here?”

“This is my second day,” he told her, again wondering at the fact that he appeared to be having an actual conversation with a vampire. He smiled wryly. “One way or another, I don't expect to be here too many more days.”

Kathryn laughed at that, and despite her seeming lack of hostility, the sound still set Sam's teeth on edge. “Yeah. I'd guess not.”

Silence fell for a few seconds. Then Kathryn sat up, looking past Sam toward the door of his cage. “Is that … Dog Chow?”

Sam didn't answer. He was already beginning to feel a little hungry again, and he didn't need the reminder, from a vampire of all sources, that his only option of remedying this was to demean himself yet again.

The vampire laughed again, and Sam had to stop himself from bristling in response. “Well, I'll give the bastards their due,” she said, after she caught her breath. “They know how to keep a shifter in his place.”

“So I guess the attempt at a real conversation is over, then,” Sam snapped. His fists were clenched, and he once more found himself calling to mind the reasons why he shouldn't shift. “Why am I not surprised?”

Kathryn looked mildly astonished at his reaction. “Hey, don't go getting your fur in a knot, Sam. It's nothing personal.”

“Yeah. Right.” Sam sighed and looked away. She was probably telling the truth, but that didn't change anything. In fact, it was just another piece of evidence to show that, while vampires might not all be the same, the vast majority of them did seem to fit the stereotype. “Hey, Kathryn, I have a question for you,” he said after a moment's thought.

“Go for it,” she said, apparently engaged in peeling the remnants of adhesive off the cuffs of her blouse.

“If they ever finally finish the cure, would you want it?”

Kathryn looked up. “The cure for what? Vampirism?”

Sam nodded.

She took a while to answer. “I don't know,” she said at last. “I don't think so, though.”

“Why not?” Sam had a feeling he knew what her answer would be, since he'd heard it from other vampires who had made their opinions known since the White House had first formally announced work on such a thing.

“I shouldn't have to tell _you_ that,” Kathryn said, scooting so that she was as close to his cage as possible. She regarded him with both intensity and honest confusion. “Even for a shifter, there have to be some similarities. Don't tell me you want a cure for your kind.”

Sam shrugged. “I'm not going to claim to speak for all of 'my kind', but I know I want it for myself, and I'm not the only one who does. I don't know what similarities you're talking about--”

“Power. Strength. Heightened senses. Being more than what you were,” Kathryn cut in. She cocked her head. “You really don't enjoy any of that?”

This was, in fact, the argument Sam had been expecting. He smiled slightly. “I'm not saying everything about it is terrible. That would be a lie.” It hadn't taken all that long for him to get used to the heightened senses, for one thing, and assuming the cure got rid of that aspect, he would miss it. “But I certainly don't think I've somehow become more than what I was because of this virus, which means I won't be less if I'm cured.”

Kathryn stared at him, her expression hard to read. Then she shook her head and turned away. “Whatever,” she said under her breath.

This seemed to signal the end of the vampire's interest in Sam for some time. She spent the next hour or so ignoring him, and Sam tried to do likewise. As the day continued, however, it got more difficult for both of them. Kathryn was becoming restless. She paced back and forth in her cage (since she wasn't as tall as Sam, she barely had to stoop in order to do so). Sam, meanwhile, couldn't seem to distract himself from his own growing restlessness and anxiety, either. It didn't help his ability to relax that whenever Kathryn glanced his way, the expression on her face told him that she was starting to view him less as a person she could talk to and more as prey that was frustratingly out of her reach. The only good thing about this development, Sam thought darkly, was that it served to distract him from his hunger.

As noon came and went, Sam abandoned all pretense of doing anything but watching the vampire as her need for blood continued to drive her to new heights of agitation. She stopped her pacing every few seconds to examine the door of her cage again, sometimes shaking it so violently that it had to hurt her hands. It always held, however – and Kathryn would usually vent her anger in a stream of curses and futile blows against the metal bars.

The tension rose so much that when shouts and then gunfire broke out from outside the building, both Sam and Kathryn jumped. Sam stood up partway, facing the door of the room. His heart was pounding as he tried to think of all the possible reasons for fighting to have broken out here. Maybe this was a rescue … or maybe it was some other terrorist group attacking his captors. There was no way of knowing yet.

Seconds later, there was the sound of running footsteps coming toward the room. Sam waited what seemed like an interminable length of time for the door to open – and then his heart sank as he saw not some member of law enforcement, but one of the men who had been in the guard rotation outside his door. The young man looked terrified, and his gaze moved from Sam to the other occupied cage and back. He ran a hand through his sweaty hair and nodded.

“They won't expect a vampire running loose,” he muttered, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a key. “That should throw them off.”

Before Sam could muster up anything beyond a horrified thought of, _Oh, God, no – he can't be serious_ , Kathryn spoke up. “Hey, that's a great idea. Let me out, and I'll take 'em all down, whoever's attacking.” Her voice was silky smooth, and she was smiling.

The man took a step closer, and Sam found his voice. “No! Don't do this,” he said, gripping the cage bars. “This is a really bad idea. Think about it. She's been locked up, and she's been getting hungry.”

Barely glancing at Sam, the young man pulled a revolver out of his jacket pocket. “I'm not stupid, man. I know how to protect myself.”

“Of course you do,” the vampire all but purred. “And besides, I won't hurt you. Just let me at the people who are causing all that noise outside.”

“No!” Sam watched in dismay as the man kept walking toward the cage. Then he shook his head, and bent to take off his shoes and start to unbutton his shirt. There was nothing else he could do for this poor fool. All he could do now was to prepare himself.

When the man got to the door, he aimed his gun with one shaking hand and used the other to put the key in the lock. The door started to open. Sam closed his eyes, trying to push aside his dread as he shifted.

There was a terrible scream, and almost simultaneously the gun went off. Sam opened his eyes quickly, only to see Kathryn bringing the man down, her fangs buried in his throat. Sam drew back instinctively, growling, and then he shook himself free of the clothes he hadn't had time to take off and waited to see what the vampire would do next.

The vampire raised her head from her victim, licking the blood off her lips and teeth in obvious pleasure. She let the corpse fall to the ground even as she reached for the key the man had dropped. When she stood and started toward Sam's cage, he let out another growl and took a step back, out of her reach should she try to get at him through the bars.

“Well, Sam,” the vampire said with a hard smile, “I guess it's only fair that I unlock your cage, too. Don't worry, I'm not big on eating animals – although I have to admit that killing them is pretty fun.”

Sam submerged his escalating human fear in the wolf's more straightforward instincts. Yes, his wolf self was afraid, but with less of a vivid imagination as to what easily could be about to happen to him. He had to focus on staying alive, if at all possible. At least there was only one vampire to face this time.

The vampire regarded him for another second before she walked around to the door of his cage. Almost faster than Sam could track, she had the door unlocked and she flung it open, and then she was springing at him just a half-second before he launched himself at her with a snarl.

They clashed in midair. The vampire's split-second head start meant that her momentum carried her into him with greater force, and so she ended up driving him to the ground. This brought her face close to his jaws, however, and despite having had most of the air forced out of his lungs, Sam lunged for her throat. She hissed and pulled back, just enough for Sam to use her shift in weight to twist out from under her, nearly hitting the wall of the cage as he did so. The vampire struggled not to fall all the way to the ground. He scrambled to his feet as she was still getting up, and when he saw the exposed side of her neck, he immediately dove at it. This time, she didn't manage to block or dodge, and his teeth closed on her throat. He tightened his grip, ignoring the vampire's attempts to strike him. The small part of his human awareness that remained reminded him that this was no ordinary opponent – he needed to sever the spine or she would continue to be a threat.

Finally, after Sam felt and heard a crack that signaled that he had reached this goal, the vampire ceased moving. Sam waited a few more seconds just to be sure, and then he let go of the creature's neck and backed away, panting. There were still sounds of fighting coming from outside the room, and there was still no way of knowing what might be on the way. Sam stayed still long enough to catch his breath before leaping over the dead vampire and out of the cage. He wasn't sure if he should risk leaving the room, although the door was open a few inches.

Sam took a few cautious steps toward the door and listened. The human voices coming nearer out in the hall meant almost nothing to the part of him that was in control right now, other than that a possible threat was getting closer. This caused another spike of terror for Sam's human mind. He had never been so deeply submerged beneath the wolf's instincts that he stopped being able to understand human speech, although he had heard this could happen. In desperation, Sam fought to regain control. Letting out a whine of confusion, he backed away from the door into the corner. He was still crouched there fighting with himself when a voice spoke – but not audibly. It seemed to be speaking directly into his mind.

_Mr. Seaborn, if you can hear me, this is Special Agent White of the FBI. I'm not going to hurt you. We're getting you out of here._

Sam let himself relax slightly. Even the wolf seemed to recognize that whatever this was, it wasn't a threat. He tried to breathe.

The door opened slowly. A man stood in the doorway, wearing what part of Sam recognized as a bulletproof vest, and holding an assault rifle. The gun was not raised, however, and the man was moving very cautiously. He said something aloud, and at the same time Sam heard the voice inside his head again. _Mr. Seaborn? It's Agent White here. I'm speaking to you telepathically. I'm in contact with CJ Cregg right now, and she and the rest of your friends in the Oval Office have been pretty worried about you_. He sounded unsure now. _Are you understanding this at all? Can you, uh, nod or something?_

Telepathically? Of course. Sam felt a wave of relief as he finally regained control, and then as he replayed what Agent White had just asked him, he nodded hastily.

“Great,” the man said, and he repeated the word mentally as well. Then he smiled, still seeming a little unsure. “I, um, I've never talked to a shifter while they were … transformed, so let me apologize right now in case I make an ass of myself in any way.”

Sam would have smiled, if he could. Instead, he nodded again and stayed silent.

“Okay.” Agent White cleared his throat. “Like I said before, Mr. Seaborn, I was just in contact with CJ Cregg, who said to tell you that everyone there – in the Oval Office, I guess – is very glad to hear that you're all right.” Then he blinked, possibly trying to deal with the weirdness of telepathic communication with the White House press secretary. “Now I'm going to call my friend, Agent Ivanova, to come down here so she can escort you somewhere you can have some privacy to shift back and clean up a little. We have a change of clothes for you as well. Then we're going to take you to the hospital, just to make sure you're okay. All right?”

In response, Sam sat down and waited while Agent White radioed to ask someone he called Audrey to come escort Sam Seaborn as they had discussed previously. Then Agent White began a slow circuit of the room, stopping to check the pulse of the poor idiot who had let the vampire out of her cage. His grim expression confirmed what Sam had already determined: the man was dead.

“Damn it. I've got to wonder why the hell this guy was even in here,” White muttered, looking from the dead man to the slain vampire. Then the agent looked at Sam quickly. “Sorry, Mr. Seaborn. We'll get a statement from you when – when you're ready.”

Sam was too exhausted by this point to do much to acknowledge the agent's comment. He thought if he weren't so close to totally out of energy, he might be surprised at the revelation that CJ had somehow been able to communicate with this Agent White over whatever distance they were from the White House right now. He had just enough mental energy to be glad to hear that his friends and his president were concerned about him. Beyond that, he was just getting ready to lie down when there was the sound of another person approaching. His ears pricked forward as a woman in another bulletproof FBI vest came into the room.

The woman gave Agent White a brief nod before turning to Sam. “Mr. Seaborn, I'm Assistant Special Agent in Charge Audrey Ivanova,” she said, in a businesslike but polite tone. “All the terrorists who were responsible for your capture are either dead or in custody. The President has been kept informed of the status of this operation, and he asked us to pass along to you that he's glad to hear that you're all right, and that he wants to come see you at the hospital when you're ready to have visitors. If you'd like, you can follow me upstairs. There's a bathroom you can use to change and get dressed.”

Sam nodded again, pleased and faintly surprised even under the weight of his weariness at the overall lack of awkwardness so far in dealing with his rescuers. Not that he'd imagined his captivity would end in exactly this way, but he had half expected that any law enforcement officer who came in contact with him while he was in wolf form wouldn't even try to speak to him directly. He certainly hadn't expected them to be as prepared for this contingency as they were.

“All right.” Agent Ivanova had a few more instructions for Agent White, which Sam missed entirely as the effects of the day's battles continued to hit him. He was trembling from fatigue and lingering adrenaline, he was incredibly thirsty, and he could feel bruises forming from the vampire's onslaught as well. This was without even considering the mental effects of his captivity and the brief loss of his human identity. He was relieved to see the ASAC start to leave the room, since he was pretty sure he'd be able to stay upright better while moving.

Sam followed her through the door and then walked alongside her, doing his best to stay alert and not to stumble. He thought he was doing okay for a little while. Then he missed a step going up the stairs, slipped, and felt another jolt of fear as he started to fall – only to be stopped when he collided with Agent Ivanova, who had to have put herself in his path when she saw him slip. She held onto the railing with one hand and put the other on his shoulder. “You all right, Mr. Seaborn?”

Though he found his footing quickly enough, Sam couldn't recover from his shock as quickly. Agent Ivanova wasn't a shifter. He had been able to tell that upon first meeting her. And yet she was treating him the same as someone like Laurie might – like someone who was absolutely without anti-shifter prejudice.

Something of his amazement must have been communicated by his staring up at her, because after a few seconds, Agent Ivanova smiled. “I have a brother who's a shifter,” she told him. “So I'm pretty familiar with interacting with someone who sometimes can't actually speak back to me. We've managed to stay close, and that's partly because of what you and the President have done for shifters already.” She blinked a few times. “All that to say, it's been my privilege to work with the Secret Service to help lead this operation, sir.”

Sam was both glad and sorry that he lacked a human vocal tract at the moment; he would have liked to have been able to tell the agent something of what her statement meant to him, but at the same time he wasn't sure he would have been able to get the words out. Instead, he continued to meet her gaze for a while longer. She smiled once more, cleared her throat, and suggested they keep going.

It wasn't too much further before they were on the main level of the building – which Sam guessed to be an old apartment building. Agent Ivanova directed him to the restrooms, and told him that there should be some clothes waiting for him on the counter. “Don't feel like you need to rush, although I imagine you'd like to be able to rest as soon as possible.”

Sam nodded again. After the door closed behind him, he hurried as fast as his fatigued state would allow. It was with intense relief that he shifted back to his human form, got dressed, and began to clean himself up as best as he could. The sight of the nearly dried blood around his mouth in the mirror, and the taste of it at the back of his throat, brought with it the expected nausea. But as a side benefit of not having eaten or drunk anything in too long, he was at least able to keep himself from throwing up. If he focused on just the task of washing his face, the sick feeling didn't bother him too much. Even after his face was clean, however, his appearance in the mirror was still alarming. He looked … well, he looked almost as bad as Josh had looked when Sam had found him in that basement room.

After taking a few more seconds to use some tap water to wash out his mouth, Sam decided that was good enough. It was long past time for him to get out of this building.

When he stepped out into the hallway, Agent Ivanova and Agent White were both there waiting with a man that Sam recognized as Agent Thiessen, one of the Secret Service agents who was part of his protection detail. They were talking in low voices – Sam heard something about the arrival of CSU – but they stopped when they noticed Sam. “Mr. Seaborn,” said Ivanova. “Ready to head out?”

“By all means, yes,” Sam answered.

She nodded, and turned to Agent Thiessen. “There's an ambulance out front that will take you to GW, sir,” the man said, “and you'll have an escort from the joint LEO task force as well. I'll accompany you from there.”

“Thank you.” As they all started toward the exit, Sam cleared his throat and faced Agent Ivanova. “And thank you for-- for what you said earlier, Agent Ivanova. It meant a lot.”

The woman gave him a brief smile. “You're welcome, sir.”

There was quite a crowd of law enforcement busy outside as Sam and the others pushed open the doors of the apartment building. Several of them looked up at Sam for a moment, but they didn't stare. Sam was almost startled to realize that it was still daytime (although the light was beginning to fade); he supposed it made sense that he must have lost track of time.

Sam thanked the three agents again before he accepted a paramedic's help to climb into the back of the ambulance. He wasn't at all surprised when the EMTs had him lie down almost as soon as he was inside – nor was he surprised when he started to fall asleep almost as soon as he did so.

Unfortunately for his exhaustion levels, it was a short trip to George Washington University Hospital. Despite how tired he was, though, Sam was not willing to be strapped onto a stretcher to be taken into the hospital. He did concede to the wisdom of using a wheelchair, since he also didn't want to fall over. But he was able to stand up from the wheelchair without assistance when he got to his hospital room – at least for long enough to then lie down on the bed.

The doctor, a woman who introduced herself as Dr. Willa Brockschmidt, gave Sam a brief examination before starting an IV of fluids. She told him that he looked to be dehydrated and exhausted, that he had some good-sized bruises, but that it was nothing that some solid rest wouldn't cure. When she added that a nurse would be bringing him a meal, as well, Sam smiled. “That's really good to hear, Doctor.” Whatever they brought him, it would have to be miles better than what he had last eaten.

Dr. Brockschmidt returned the smile. “I guess I won't have to insist that you stay awake long enough to eat, then,” she said. “Oh, and when you're about done with your meal, I'll let them know to let the President know that you're ready for visitors, if that's all right with you.”

“That's fine,” Sam replied. He wasn't sure how coherent he would be able to be when the President and the others got here, but he did want to see them before he slept.

Sam did his best to eat the sandwiches they brought him at a slow pace, although it was difficult. The nurse gave him a somewhat severe look when he emptied the plate in less than two minutes, but she didn't scold him. Instead, she let him know that she would let the doctor know he was finished.

Despite his resolve to stay alert, Sam had begun to drop off in the few minutes it took for the President and Leo to arrive at the hospital. He only happened to hear approaching footsteps outside his room in enough time to sit up and rub a hand across his face.

The President came into the room and immediately crossed to stand beside Sam's bed. “Sam,” he greeted him, with a warm smile, “it's good to see you safe here. How are you doing?”

“I'm all right, sir,” Sam answered. “Thank you for coming.”

“Of course,” Leo said, coming to stand next to the President. “Everyone else should be on their way here soon, too.”

Charlie, who had entered the room a few seconds after Leo and the President, added, “And the First Lady asked me to pass along that she's very glad to hear that you're all right. She would have come herself, but she's flying back from California tomorrow morning.”

“Thanks, Charlie,” Sam said, “and pass along my thanks to the First Lady, if you have the chance.”

“I will,” the younger man promised.

The President said, “Yeah, Abbey has been calling a lot, making sure she gets the latest on you as soon as I get it. I can't find it in me to be too annoyed with her, either, since I would have been calling the task force just as often if they hadn't specifically asked me to wait for their updates.”

“Yes, your restraint was admirable, Mr. President,” Leo said dryly, giving Sam a knowing look.

Touched, Sam cleared his throat. “Well, thank you for not distracting them while they were doing their job, sir,” he said. “I appreciate it. They did it well.”

The President smiled again. “I'm glad to hear it.” Then his smile faded, and he continued, “I'm so sorry we couldn't find you sooner, Sam. From the pictures they sent with their list of demands, it's clear that every second you had to spend in that place was something that no one should have to endure. And on that subject, I want you to know that the only people who ever saw those photos were Leo, those Secret Service and FBI agents who needed to see them to try to figure out where you were, and me. Oh, and CJ, although that was sort of accidental.”

Sam almost didn't notice that final comment as he imagined again what he must have looked like in those photos. He looked down, swallowed, and nodded. Then he raised an eyebrow. “Accidental?”

“Yeah,” the President confirmed, sounding a little bemused. “You can ask her about it sometime.”

“Okay.” Sam thought for a moment, and then decided to ask the question that had occurred to him. “I was wondering, uh, if there was anything in particular that helped lead your investigation in the right direction.”

“There was,” the President said grimly. “Kevin Franks.”

Sam looked down again. It certainly didn't make him happy to have this suspicion confirmed, but it did make sense.

“Needless to say, he's fired, and he's going to prison.” Leo was as angry as Sam had ever seen him. “We did put in a good word since he confessed and told us everything he knew … but just the one good word. That was all we could stomach.”

Sam nodded again, not feeling guilty that he could only summon up satisfaction at this news rather than any pity for the man. In fact, part of him wished he could have been witness to that confrontation. “I didn't get a chance to ask Agent Thiessen – how is Agent Harmon? Did you find him?”

“Yeah,” the President said. He paused. “He was hurt pretty badly. He spent the first twelve hours after you were kidnapped in a medically-induced coma, but I've been told that he's showing signs of coming out of it on his own.”

 _A coma_. Sam wasn't sure if that was a whole lot better than what he had been fearing, but at least it meant that he was alive.

“I know you know this, Sam,” continued the President in a serious tone, “but he was doing his job. He knew what he signed up for. And plus, the doctors are hopeful that he'll make a full recovery.”

“Yes, sir.” Sam did know this, but it didn't lessen his guilt much.

“Well, anyway,” said the President after a moment, “let's not dwell on what we can't change. We can get into more details of all of this when Franks' and the kidnappers' cases go to trial, which should be soon enough. You just get some rest, Sam, and we'll see you soon.”

“Thank you, Mr. President,” Sam said. He wouldn't have minded spending more time talking with them, but he could also feel his exhaustion building. Then he craned his neck to try to look out the window. “Are the others--”

“Yeah, they're probably waiting out there,” Leo put in with a smile. “You've got a nice enough room, but we thought it would be a little overcrowded with us all in here at once.”

“Yeah, that's true.” Sam looked at Charlie and Leo and the President in turn. “Thank you, all of you, for coming.”

They said their farewells. It was less than a minute before Toby, CJ, and Josh came into the room, and Sam felt a little bit of his lingering stress fade away as he greeted his friends. They didn't stay long, either, but just seeing them and speaking with them was therapeutic. Not that he would tell them that in so many words, of course. CJ would probably think it was sweet of him to say, but Toby would just give him his patented “What the hell is wrong with you?” look, and Josh would laugh at him … although maybe they would cut him some slack, since the three of them each also made it clear that he had been missed.

Sam laid his head down and was asleep seconds after his friends departed. In spite of everything that had happened in the past few days, his last thought was a feeling of profound relief that he was back home.

~

End


End file.
